


Tooth

by Eyebrowdancer



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyebrowdancer/pseuds/Eyebrowdancer
Summary: Freddy is ambushed by the crew. Mr White is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Freddy Newandyke/Larry Dimick, Freddy Newandyke/Lawrence Dimick, Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 134





	Tooth

Brown’s fist expertly split Freddy’s lip, coming from nowhere. Freddy spun, hit the wall, hauled himself up again. The fury in his pale eyes articulated itself through spluttering blood that coursed down his chin and soaked his shirt. He raised his arms defensively.

Blonde kicked out Freddy’s legs and laughed casually as Pink struck his shin up into Freddy’s crotch. Freddy folded in half and collapsed back against the wall. His bloody hands left marks everywhere they groped for balance. He spat, his teeth lined in red. A fist buried in his gut when he tried to stand upright and another cracked across his jaw. He seethed in pain trying to reply with his own blows. None landed. Training did fuck all against the element of surprise combined with seasoned professionals.

White appeared and crouched beside him as the others drove away. He smoothed a hand across Orange’s damp forehead and eased him to sit upright on the pavement. He kept a hand on his blood-soaked chest to stop him from slumping forward.

“Those sons of bitches,” White snarled, using the edge of his sleeve to scrape at the blood on Orange’s face. Freddy pulled away, hissing. “I’m gonna kill those bastards.”

“Just get me outta here,” Orange grunted as White hoisted him to his feet. With an arm slung over his shoulders, the pair made their way round the back to White’s waiting car.

“What the fuck did I do?” Freddy demanded. He leaned heavily on the basin with one hand while the other prodded cautiously at his broken face. White sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding both their beers. Whenever the kid looked like he needed another mouthful, White passed it over. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Freddy had a feeling he already knew the answer. If some of the guys had a suspicion that Freddy wasn’t who he claimed to be, they might have felt vindicated in doling out a little frontier justice. Except the guys would have told Joe instead of beating up Orange themselves, and the punishment for being a cop had to be more severe than that. So maybe it was something else.

“You didn’t deserve it, kid.” White watched with a frown as Orange ineptly dabbed a cotton ball at the slices in his skin. “They’re fucking jackals.”

“So I gotta believe that’s how Joe hazes the new guy? Could’ve given me a heads-up.” Freddy flicked a look at White in the mirror.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

White sighed. He took a deep swig and put both bottles on the tiled floor. “They know about you.”

Freddy’s stomach lurched. “What about me?” he asked, voice suddenly hoarse. White stood up and shed his jacket. He hung it on the towel hook and leaned against the door, observing Orange’s reflection. The kid’s eyes were wide with dread.

“You’re not married, are you?” White nodded downwards and Freddy turned to face him properly, realising he meant the ring. Freddy touched it, paused, then took it off. He placed it delicately on the soap tray and shook his head. His terror didn’t change but the root of it did. Nobody knew he was a cop. It was his other cover that’d blown.

“Are you?” Freddy asked. White’s gaze was hard to meet.

Freddy had liked him from day one. Every interaction since their initial meeting in that pungent bar had only solidified this first impression. He couldn’t help but respect the man for being talented and pulling off everything he did with style. Freddy had been warned in the past not to admire or empathise with these people – a fundamental of good undercover work was conveying camaraderie while maintaining personal distance. However, something more sinister than admiration lurked beneath the surface. He had been so careful to keep up his disguise that it came as a shock to hear that his other mask, his more refined and practised one, had slipped.

“Divorced. Thank god,” White laughed, trying to ease the tension. It didn’t work. Freddy smirked anyway.

“What do they know about me, White?” He could barely hear his own voice. He noticed White swallow before speaking as he slackened his tie.

“You’re a queer.”

Freddy wanted to throw up. He turned back to the basin and clung to its edge, staring down into the plughole. He started to wonder if he would prefer being uncovered as a cop. That felt cleaner. He hadn’t worn the thief-disguise long enough to feel attached to it. This other disguise was too painful to shed. And now it was being torn away.

Mr White was at his back, trying to meet his gaze in the mirror. A wide flat hand rested reassuringly on Freddy’s shaking shoulder.

“Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I know a guy who-”

“I’m not.” The finality in Freddy’s words didn’t convince either of them. White stepped away, holding his hands up in capitulation.

“Alright, kid. That’s just what they told me. Said you seemed off somehow. I didn’t know they were gonna corner you like that.”

“What did you know? You could’ve told me before I got my ass kicked.” Freddy gave up trying to maintain composure and sat heavily on the edge of the bathtub while White leaned against the door again.

“I stayed out of it. Brown and Pink drank with Blonde and Nice Guy but I had other people to meet most nights. I only caught some of it.”

“They think I’m a fag?” Freddy spat.

“Guess they do.”

Freddy rested his elbows on his knees and slumped forward. White noticed the sheen of sweat trailing from the nape of Orange’s neck down his back, disappearing under his vest. He kicked gently at the kid’s foot and nodded at the beers. Freddy lifted one and passed it over silently. The fear and humiliation on his face was unmistakable.

“Is Joe gonna drop me?” he asked at last. His nose had started bleeding again. He used the back of his wrist to smudge away the blood.

“Don’t think he’d wanna hear that his guys singled someone out for a beating. Doubt they’d tell Joe what they did unless they had a better reason for doing it. You’re still on.”

Freddy couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. His professional self was happy to keep the case alive, whereas his deeper, more primitive side wished he’d been dropped so he could avoid those bastards until the time came to lock them up. He’d enjoy seeing them rot.

“I’m going to bed,” Freddy muttered, rising. He peeled off the bloodied vest and dropped it in the bath. White turned away hastily and opened the bathroom door. In the main room, he hovered by a dining chair and waited for Orange to emerge and give an indication on whether or not he needed anything else. Instead of saying goodbye or even acknowledging White’s continued presence in the flat, Orange stumbled past him and into the bedroom. He eased himself onto the bed with care and fell asleep instantly.

It was noon when White finally decided to intrude on Orange’s sleep. He read the old newspaper he’d found under the junk on the dining table after a fitful night. Wooden chairs weren’t made for a proper rest and his back ached as punishment. Through the open bedroom door, he could see Orange’s feet and the lump of a body under the blankets. Kid hadn’t even taken off his shoes.

White brought a glass of water to Orange’s bedside and cleared his throat. When Orange didn’t stir, he shook the kid’s shoulder.

“What? Shit.” Freddy shot upright, frantically smoothing back his hair and scanning the room for the day’s necessities. It took him a moment to properly register White’s presence. “Has Joe called us?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you here so early?”

“It’s not early. And I stayed the night.” At the sight of Orange’s flickering frown, White added, “You were beaten to shit. Couldn’t let you check out in your sleep.”

“Yeah, that was definitely a possibility,” Freddy sneered. He suddenly remembered his modesty and groped for one of the many shirts piled on the floor by the bed. He grabbed one and yanked it over his head, wincing sharply at the pain of the fabric against his facial wounds. Suddenly his face turned white. He bolted from the room and White heard a clear, light rattle coming from the bathroom. He followed slowly.

“Look what they fucking did,” Orange snarled, fury directed into the blood-spattered basin. Among the red, a pale shard of white glinted up at them. White leaned closer to see the fallen tooth.

“Right.” Without waiting for permission, White took Orange by the shoulders and sat him on the bathtub rim. He opened the kid’s jaws like a vet would a spaniel. His fingers searched the gums and found a gap. “You’re lucky. It was pretty far back.” He removed his fingers from Orange’s mouth. “Some people pay for those teeth to come out.”

Freddy didn’t laugh. He stared up at White. The blood around his nose and upper lip were crusted dark. “Those motherfuckers.” He gently massaged his cheek, testing the movement of his jaw. “Should Joe know about this?”

White perched carefully on the edge beside Orange, hands braced on his thighs. He sighed thoughtfully. “It’s hard to know. What good do you think it’ll do?”

Freddy considered it. If he told Joe his crew had beaten him to a pulp, he might delay the heist and therefore extend Freddy’s time undercover, leaving him open to even more brutal attacks. If he kept his mouth shut, he could get this over with and see the bastards locked up in no time.

“You’re right. Thanks for staying,” Freddy said. He patted White’s knee gratefully but was careful not to let his hand linger. “I’m gonna wash up. There’s cereal in the cupboard, I think. Or I don’t mind if you got someplace to be.” He hoped White would stay. Any company was welcome right now if it wasn’t threatening immediate bodily harm. Freddy knew he shouldn’t consider this felon to be good company, but it was difficult to dislike Mr White. Increasingly difficult, Freddy noticed with a pang of shame.

While White made coffee, Freddy examined his features in the daylight reflection. His eye was swollen and purple and bloodshot, his nose decorated with a straight slice. His cheeks were grazed and, undisguised by his stubble, a collection of discoloured patches bloomed under the skin. He touched each with a wary fingertip and winced every time. His ribs ached and he lifted his shirt to find a spread of navy bruises interrupting his pasty torso. With a groan, he started to retch into the sink.

White tried not to hear as he checked the cupboards and pulled out two mugs. He reread the same headline over and over on that same old newspaper, unable to ignore the sounds of discomfort amid the running water and creaking pipes.

“Kid, come here.”

When Orange didn’t return, White got to his feet and joined him in the bathroom. The kid’s battered face looked doubly horrific under the fluorescent mirror light and the sun coming through the small frosted window.

“It’s fine. You can go. I’ll see you when Joe calls.” Freddy opened his mouth wide to inspect it in the mirror. He tongued at the newly empty gum socket and spat at the taste of blood.

“You gotta realise by now I ain’t leaving you.”

The sombre tone caused Freddy to turn, eyebrow raised. Mr White looked as slick as ever, despite the uncombed hair and slackened tie. He posed a stout, intimidating figure in the doorway and Freddy knew he should have felt trapped by this.

When White moved closer, the sink struck Freddy’s hip as he backed into it. White rested both hands on the edge of the basin, one arm either side of Orange’s waist. So near but not yet touching, Freddy tried to look anywhere but into those dark, probing eyes. His pummelled gut ached with the exertion of leaning away from White’s smoky breath.

“Hey, Mr White, come on…”

“It’s Larry.”

“Don’t tell me that.” Freddy turned his face away, praying that White wasn’t going to do what it looked like he might. The warm breath at his cheek froze his spine and he shut his eyes. He felt cool fingertips grip his bruised jaw and slowly turn his head forward. “Don’t.”

White’s mouth was soft but his face was sharp with stubble. His other hand rested on Orange’s hip and he stepped closer, pushing their chests together. It took some effort for Freddy to wedge his hand between them and shove White away.

“I’m not like that,” he said. White nodded, though clearly didn’t believe him. “Can you go now?”

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?” Freddy barked incredulously. He tried to exit the bathroom only to find himself caught in the doorway with White too close again.

“You think you’ve been cool? Think you’ve kept it hidden? Kid, even that pack of morons knew it from a few meetings. And how’s a guy supposed to ignore all the little looks and laughs coming his way?”

Freddy barged past into the main room and pulled on a check shirt over his tee to feel less exposed. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Panic thrummed in his throat and wrenched his lungs. White sat down at the table and massaged an exasperated hand across his lower face, resting his elbow on the surface. He looked up at Orange with pitying, impatient eyes.

“You’re a good-looking kid. That’s all I’m saying.”

“That’s nothing like what you’re saying.”

“If I crossed a line, I apologise. But you and I have been getting along something good. You know that. Come on.”

Freddy sat cautiously opposite White at the table and leaned back in his chair. He hoped to hell he could blame his stupidity on concussion from the night before, but this all started weeks ago. He couldn’t deny it; he really fucking liked Mr White. Recognising this at last tightened the knot already in his stomach.

“White, listen-”

“Larry.”

“Yeah, Larry. I didn’t mean to… well. It’s not like that.”

“We don’t get along?”

Freddy laughed humourlessly. “Of course we fucking do. That doesn’t mean anything else. Let’s leave it at that.”

White’s foot nudged at Orange’s under the table. Freddy pulled his legs back. At this, White sighed and made a decision. He stood, smoothed his shirt front and turned to the door.

“I’ll see you when Joe calls, kid.”

“Yeah.”

Larry pulled his sunglasses from his breast pocket and squinted into the afternoon light. The apartment block door clicked shut behind him and he looked up and down the street, considering where to go for some proper breakfast. His heart was hammering despite the slow, sludgy twist in his gut, that old yet ever-fresh feeling of humiliation. He wondered how things would be at Joe’s next meeting. Would the kid act different? Would he stay far from Larry? It stung just to imagine.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it against the light breeze. Just as he remembered that twenty-four-hour café around the corner, he jumped at the clunk behind him.

“Larry.”

Orange stood in the apartment block doorway, breathing heavily. He hadn’t changed out of his wrinkled check shirt and last night’s bloody jeans.

“Yeah?” It took more willpower than Larry was willing to admit not to beam with relief at seeing the kid’s face again so soon.

“Can I speak to you? Inside?” Orange tipped his head towards the cramped communal passage behind him. He held open the front door with a shaky arm.

“Sure.”

Once inside, Orange returned upstairs to his flat, not looking back to check if Larry followed. As soon as they were both in the main room, he surged. Larry accepted the hard, inelegant kiss.

“Change of heart?”

“Don’t talk.”

Orange moved in again, head down as he pushed a hand into Larry’s trousers. The desperation in his movements wasn’t a turn-off. Larry watched the kid’s face as he concentrated on unfastening Larry’s fly. To assist, Larry unbuckled Orange’s belt.

The hunger in those pale eyes hinted at years of repressed thoughts and self-denial. Larry had to wonder if Orange ever let himself be with a guy. The poor kid looked starved for it, a new erratic energy overcoming his actions. The ungainly, tense touches and sharp breaths made Larry want to simultaneously embrace the kid and knock some self-respect into him. Then, all of a sudden, the grip on his crotch found a pleasing motion and sensible thought evacuated his mind.

“I’m not like this,” Orange was muttering, his warm mouth buried in Larry’s neck. Larry could only groan in reply. He stroked the kid’s sides, lifting the bottom of his shirt to run his fingers across his skin. He felt like a dirty old man. He leaned away but kept his hands on Orange’s firm waist.

“How old are you?”

Orange glared at him. He grabbed at Larry’s shirt front and hauled him closer. Larry stepped back.

“Old enough.” Freddy could see White’s dissatisfaction at this answer and rolled his eyes, moving away properly. His face lit up bright red and he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

Larry’s heart sunk. He watched Orange slump on the small tattered sofa and wished he’d said nothing. He should’ve expected that the slightest friction could spook the kid. It was painfully obvious Orange hadn’t admitted this fact about himself to anyone. Not that Larry had either, but he’d had more years to get over the self-hate.

Regarding the kid warily, Larry couldn’t help but notice the tent in Orange’s jeans. He became more aware of the discomfort at his own confined erection. It only worsened at the sight of Orange slightly lifting his shirt to inspect the battered skin beneath. Larry sat down next to him and put a firm, encouraging hand on the back of the kid’s neck.

“You can go now,” Freddy said flatly. His face was still red and he couldn’t look at White. The hand on the back of his neck felt heavy and dangerous.

Instead of replying, Larry moved in to press his free hand onto Orange’s crotch. He massaged it roughly and shifted closer, crowding the kid into the far side of the sofa. Orange’s eyes grew wide and finally met Larry’s. He didn’t return the touches as White’s hands groped aggressively between his legs and behind his head. Soon he was pushed down flat, crushed by the older man’s weight. A fresh surge of embarrassment rushed through him as he felt his hard-on intensify under the new pressure.

“Larry, please go,” Freddy groaned. He found his hands moving without permission, smoothing up Larry’s back and pulling him closer. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that he’d get off quickly, meaning he could start suppressing the memory as soon as it was over. He was certainly flustered enough that he doubted he could last very long even if he wanted to.

“You gonna let this happen?” Larry asked.

“Am I old enough?”

Larry punished Orange’s scorn with a painful squeeze. Freddy felt like he might come from that alone and heard himself gasp involuntarily. Before he knew it, Larry was tugging down his jeans and moving a hand down his own fly to pull out his erection. Freddy glanced down and panicked at the sight of it. Thick and angry. He shifted under White’s body.

“You’re not gonna-”

Larry interrupted by stroking Orange’s exposed cock and all at once Freddy came. His abdomen tightened and he crunched forward, head pushing into Larry’s shoulder. The warm liquid flicked across his stomach and up one of his wrists.

“Oh, alright.” Larry laughed. He wiped the sticky wetness from his hand onto Orange’s shirt and watched briefly as the kid returned from his orgasm. “You good now?”

Freddy’s forehead ached from frowning and he looked blearily up at White, sickened. “Get off me.”

“Kid, that’s not how it works.”

Freddy didn’t have time to ask what that meant before Larry started using his knee to edge down his waistband even further. Larry adjusted Orange’s legs to widen them without fully removing the kid’s jeans. He leaned down, shoulders hunched as he worked a hand between their bodies once more. Freddy stared.

“What are you doing?” He found his voice quiet and shaky. He pushed at Larry’s chest. “Let’s wait. Let me wait.” Larry didn’t seem to hear these words at all. Freddy touched the man’s face and tried to catch his focus. “Let me blow you.”

It hurt to suggest such a thing. Freddy still wasn’t ready to believe he was this kind of guy – the kind of guy who found himself looking at a middle-aged criminal and remembering the shape of his shoulders while touching himself in the evening. It was easy to keep those thoughts under control when they didn’t directly involve anyone else. Kissing Larry had been bad enough. This entire situation had gone much too far.

“I won’t hurt you,” Larry growled. Freddy watched as he spat twice into his hand, reaching down to smooth the saliva along his cock. More spitting, and then Freddy jolted at the feeling of a fingertip grazing his perineum before sharply breaching his entrance. He felt his own hand tighten suddenly on Larry’s shoulder.

“Don’t,” he hissed.

“You’ll be fine. I won’t hurt you.”

Freddy twisted futilely under Larry’s weight. No matter how hard he writhed, it didn’t stop Larry’s cock from bumping threateningly into Freddy’s inner thigh. He held back a yell as Larry pushed in, splitting him apart.

The motion started irregular and slow at first as Larry shifted to achieve a better angle. He had to thrust shallowly several times before Freddy’s resistant muscles finally slackened enough to let him bottom out. The sensation of Larry’s hips rutting against him made Freddy nauseous. Still he clung to Larry’s shoulders, bracing himself for every violation. His eyes stung hot and wet.

Larry eventually came with a grunt. He slid from Freddy’s body, causing the kid to wince. It took Larry no time to tuck away his softening cock. He rested his head on the back of the sofa and let out a satisfied sigh.

Freddy heaved himself up, pulled up his boxers and stormed to the bathroom where he locked the door. He leaned back on it, breathing fast and hard. His whole body ached. He caught a glimpse of his lurid reflection, eyes shining and hair wild. A creeping warmth began slipping down his leg and he immediately threw up on the floor.

After a few minutes of trying to contain his sharp sobs, Freddy heard a tentative knock behind him. He wiped his nose on his wrist and snarled, “Get the fuck out.”

“Hey kid, mind if we talk?”

Freddy laughed miserably. “Fuck off.” The ferocity in his tone was undercut by the raspy breaths surrounding it. He dug frustrated fingers into his scalp.

A clicking and scraping noise stirred him briefly from his fury. He leapt away from the door just as Larry opened it. Freddy felt his gut heave.

“You alright, kid?” Larry asked gently. The concern in his expression was just as real as the dogged hunger he’d demonstrated not minutes before. Freddy backed away and bumped into the toilet. He hadn’t even pulled up his jeans properly.

“Go away.” The sight of Larry robbed his voice of its anger. He desperately refused to cry in front of the man.

“Hey, sorry if I got carried away in there.” Larry gestured vaguely behind himself at the main room. He stepped closer and Freddy stumbled as he backed away into the corner. He was now trapped between the wall and the toilet, his jeans only halfway up. His heart hammered manically under his ribs as he stared at Larry’s anxious face.

“You’re a fucking pervert,” Freddy hissed. Self-consciously, he yanked up his jeans. “You’re a fucking faggot.”

Larry came nearer, hands up in surrender. “Alright, kid, calm down.”

“Stay right fucking there.”

Larry ignored the weak command and joined Orange in the corner. He put a hand on the wall behind the kid’s head and leaned in. His warm breath nearly made Freddy retch.

“You don’t need to get so worked up, kid. Nobody’s gonna know. You still got your pride.” He nudged Orange’s chin. “Got it?”

“Please go away,” Freddy whispered.

Larry kissed him softly, one hand at his neck and the other snaking to his waist. He pushed himself into Orange’s shaking body, crowding them both further into the corner. Freddy couldn’t even pretend to reciprocate. When their mouths parted, he couldn’t meet Larry’s eye.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone, and neither am I. You gotta calm down and accept it. You’re as much of a faggot as I am.”

Freddy couldn’t hold it back anymore. He slumped into Larry’s arms and sobbed.


End file.
